


Left Me Breathless

by Alliebadalie



Category: One Direction
Genre: AU, Bullying, Dominant Louis, Fluff, Gay, High School, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliebadalie/pseuds/Alliebadalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being beaten down isn't news for Harry - an openly gay boy living in pain with his tough school and home life, trying to make the best of bad things.  He struggles hard to fit in, so he doesn't even try.  Neither does the preppy boy of the school, new senior Louis Tomlinson.  When both try to find a way to brighten their lives, they realize they don't want to go through it alone.  The only problem is that they can't be friends.  How was Lou supposed to be friends with a gay boy, with his strict parents and hard earned reputation?  They couldn't be friends.  So why couldn't they be something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry’s POV  
“Hey, loser, watch where you’re going!” The tall, dark haired guy stammered. His name was Vince. I hated that name. I hated him. He made my life a living hell. “I didn’t do anything” I whispered under my breath, hoping he’d ignore it. But like always, he heard. “Well keep out of my damn way!” He bellowed, shoving me into the locker. The metal clanged, and everyone stared for a split second. They didn’t take their eyes off me. Staring. Forever. And then a second later they’re not. He tugged on my coat, and attempted to knock me over. I held on with all my power, until he threw me to the ground like a rag doll. He walked away, his feet tapping down the hallway, as his friends congratulated him on another victory over me.  
“How was your day today?” Aleeina chirped to me, walking down the back path to my house. “Nothing any different than other days” I grumbled under my breath, holding on tightly to my backpack straps, leaning over, not wanting to feel the searing pain arch through my back, he tackled me worse than usual. Normally the pain was bad, but bearable. But I’d have to get through it, there was no other option. She began speaking again, in a happy, positive way, trying her hardest to cheer me up “Well, there’s gotta be one thing that was different,” she began walking in front of me, backwards staring at the sky and making weird hand gestures. “Something more exciting than the norm. What was it. I know it’s there, come on, tell me.” She stopped walking. I put my head down and tried to struggle past her. She continued blocking my path. I knew she wouldn’t stop until I gave her an answer. I started thinking. Science. Nothing. Math. Quadratic formulas as usual. History, learning the political importance of steamboats. Lunch. Sitting alone. Again. Hallway. That’s something, as long as she gets off my back, I’d tell her anything.  
“I got beat up harder than usual”  
I say it acting as if the news was exciting as getting an A on a test. Her expression is shocked and pained. Why’d she care? I began walking, flowing past her. She started walking again, catching up. She ripped my backpack off my shoulders, revealing my black hoodie that I always wore and my gray t-shirt. I let her have it. Heck, it’d feel a lot better on my shoulders. She lifted up my sweater, exposing my messy shirt. I tried to tug it back down. “Why won’t you let me see your back?” She asked, worried. “It’s cold” I gave her an excuse emotionlessly and wrapped my arms around my chest. She continued to pull up my sweater, trying to see my back. “Knock it off, Aleeina” I say in annoyance. She tries one more time after a few seconds had passed, and she manages to lift up my shirt, too, exposing my bruised and beaten back to her. I stop and turn around, looking at her angrily. “Why’d you do that?” I ask, nearly yelling. “What are those bruises from?” She asks just as loud, wanting a real explanation. “You know what” I grumble, hoping I can get away from her. “Harry, I honestly don’t, you need to tell me exactly how you got those br-“ I turned around, yanking my backpack out of her hands, and didn’t even try to sound genuine. “My dad! Vince! The football team! What’d you expect Aleeina? Did you hope I’d say that I fell, or I just did a good workout? No! I got beat up! Countless times! Don’t you understand that?” I slipped my backpack on my shoulders, turn around and stormed away. She finally didn’t follow me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis has a rough day at school and is found slightly comforted by a quiet, cryptic boy in the bathroom.

Louis’s POV  
School was horrible. I knew they’d ask. I didn’t bother bringing it up myself. Two months into a new school, a new school year, and I’m already known as the preppy rich kid. Why’d they care? This school was full of judgmental idiots, mostly. Sitting around the dinner table, my older sister, younger brothers and parents scarfed down their meals, I picked at mine, mostly. Not wanting to eat whatever it was.  
“How was your day, Lou?” There it was. I stared at my food, ignoring my mom’s question. “Lou, how was school?” She asked, getting impatient.  
“Fine” I utter, hoping she’d stop talking. I excused myself, then traveled upstairs to my room, shutting the door and lying on my bed. What was I going to do here, in this school, for eight more months? I was ready to leave high school. Go to college. I couldn’t wait until next year, dreaming of Oxford University sounded amazing. I got my acceptance letter a few months ago, and I couldn’t wait to move out and live life my own way. I was sick of it, and I was already sick of this town. What kind of name is Holmes Chapel? Sound religious, if you ask me. A knock sounded at my door, I took a pillow and shoved it in my face “Go away” But my mom muffled her voice through the door  
“Hon, are you going to sign up for a sport this year? There’s football coming up” I removed the pillow from my face, sighing.  
“All those football players are dumbasses” I said, hoping the conversation would end  
“Louis, don’t say that! What even makes you think so?” She says with her attitude  
“Because mom, they beat kids up in the hallway and do you think I’d enjoy doing that?” I proved her wrong, of course, so easily.  
“I’m sure that’s just a rumor” She says matter-of-factly  
“How’s it a rumor when I’ve seen it happen before” I walk to my closet, finding my homework in my bag. She stops talking. I listen. She’s gone.  
Waking up the next day was horrible. Late. Again. I slung on my pants and slipped on a shirt, heading through the door minutes later. I run through the door, with my homework dangling from my jaw, my backpack struggling to go over my shoulder, nervous about the biggest test of the quarter. I storm down the sidewalk. My mom would kill me if I’m late. But she doesn’t know that I’m struggling to get to school on time, of course, she’s at work – again. And I have the house all to myself, oh joy. Just as the bell rings I enter the school, sweaty, messy, and my homework crumpled up in a fit of running too fast. I decide to skip my locker, and run towards class. I run into a boy, I mumble sorry and head past. I hear papers shuffling. I look back. His papers are scattered all over the floor. I groan and run over to help. I pick up his papers quickly and hand them to him. I eye the clock. Crap. 6 minutes late. I’ll never get that test done. He thanks me and I mumble it back to him, then start heading towards my class. I realize something that I completely missed 2 seconds ago. That’s the kid. The guy who got beat up, bullied. Harassed in the hall yesterday. I should’ve stood up for him, but I don’t know him. Heading up the stairs, I look back, but he’s disappeared down the hall.  
“I’m sorry Louis but you’re 7 minutes late, I can’t allow you to take the test.”  
“Mrs. Harwin that’s not fair! I was late for school! Please, this test is so important!” I beg her to let me take it, but she won’t budge  
“Sorry, Mr. Tomlinson, you’ll just have to do it tomorrow, minus the 10% you’ll be getting docked down. Don’t be late next time.” She enters the room again, shutting the door behind her. Perfect. First moving to this shit town, then being isolated from my family as they create new, perfect lives for themselves. And now this. My parents will be so upset, they’ll ground me for a month and think I’m rebelling. Nothing good has happened since we moved here. These have been the three worst months of my life. Why me? Why’d this have to happen? I trudge down the stairs, making my way towards my locker to check my homework. I slouch against the wall, contemplating my screwed up life.  
The first time my phone chimes, I ignore it. Hoping it’s just my sister asking where I was this morning. It wasn’t. It chimes again. Two, three, four more times. Finally, in annoyance, I answer it. “Hello” I grunt. It’s a number I don’t know. I think about hanging up, until the person on the other line speaks up. It’s a woman with a smooth voice. “Hi, Louis Tomlinson?” She says with concern. I straighten up against the wall, quieting my voice so the other classes didn’t hear me. “Speaking.” I say. “Hi, this is Oxford University calling about your recommendation letter. We understand we accepted you in with a scholarship a few months ago?” She says curiously, like she already knows the answer. “Um… Yes. Why, is there a problem?” I speak, hoping this isn’t something about dorms, I’m getting my own place. “Well, you see, we’ve reviewed your application, and it seems we mislead you. We usually send a letter, but we believe it got lost in the mail.” She takes a short breath, like the next thing will be tough to say “Anyhow, we’ve had to decline your application after re-reading, there was some sort of mistake. We apologize, we’ll send an email to clear up all the details.” Speechless. I was speechless. “Mr. Tomlinson?” I snap out of my faze. “Oh yes, um, thank you” She grants it back and hangs up. I take the phone away from my ear, snapping it shut. I stare into the empty hallway. The artwork on the walls, the white tile floors. Everything around me seems – blank. I feel tears swell in my eyes. No, no I won’t cry. I run to the bathroom, throwing my backpack against the hard tile wall, hearing the echo around it. I splash cold water in my face, trying to calm myself down. I hear a shuffle, and a boy sniffing. I begin heading out of the bathroom when the boy emerges from a stall, red nose and tearful eyes. He has his shirt sloppily on, revealing his stomach. I start heading out,  
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here” I say.  
“No, it’s fine. I have nothing else to do.” He speaks.  
“So you’re ditching?” I ask.  
“What else am I supposed to do?” He retreats back where I can’t see him clearly  
“Um… go to class”  
“No, they’re in there” he mumbles full of fear  
“Who’s in there?” I ask, confused  
“Vince and everyone else. But it’s not like you’d care.” He states, talking quietly.  
“Is that what… those are?” I ask, realizing after a moment he has bruises from one part of his back all the way across the other.  
“No, that was someone else. Except that one” he points to a thin bleeding slice in his chest, lifting up his shirt a little. I stare a little too long, mesmerized. He puts his shirt back down. I head towards him.  
“You should get that looked at, does it hurt?” I ask him, trying to see again to analyze it. I touch it, just a little, and blood swells on my finger. He backs away from my touch, looking embarrassed.  
“A little, but I’ve been through worse” he chuckles. I give him a confused look, my hands tugging lightly at the bottom of his shirt, as it settles back over his stomach. He lightly grips my hands and puts them at my sides. I could tell he felt uncomfortable, but not in a ‘I’m straight this is gay way’ kind of the opposite. I snap out of it.  
“Well that’s not good! Tell someone, this isn’t ok, you know?” I say, slightly worried at this stranger’s pain.  
“Nobody will help. Nobody ever does. Nobody can do anything about it, about any of it” he tucks his shirt back in, completely masking the bruises, he grabs wads of tissue, grabs his bag from the floor, and leaves, leaving me standing alone in the bathroom, my fingers still tingling from his touch


	3. Chapter 3

Harry’s POV  
I had to get home. Quick. No, I couldn’t. He’d be waiting there for me; with that belt in his hand, waiting to hurt me, punish me for all I’ve done. I’m sick of everything. I walked around the halls for what seemed like days; until the bell sounding the finale of first period chimed. I made my way out a side door, avoiding any contact with anyone. I started walking. Not home, no, far from it. Instead I walked to where I knew was the one place I could escape all the pain was.  
I arrived about 30 minutes later at my favorite spot in town – the pond. Shimmering brightly, sunken deep in a meadow of emerald green grass. I ran up to the surface, peeking in my reflection. I did a good job covering up the bruise on my face – that guy didn’t even notice it. That guy. Who was he? And why’d he care? I shook the thought, plunging my hands deep in the water, feeling all the pain go away for just a moment. I took my hands out of the water and turned around. Standing behind me with an evil smile on his face – was the football team.  
“Aw, look, loser boy found a special hideout” Vince mocked, causing his friends to laugh. They all crowded around me, trapping me close to the surface of the water. My feet splashed in the cool water as they forced me to back up.  
“Is this where your boyfriend is hiding?” One of the jocks from behind yelled. I felt the water rise to my ankles, as they continued to push me around.  
“Leave me alone” I grunted as they continued throwing me around in between them.  
“What’re you going to do about it, fag?”  
That pushed me over the edge. I thought for a split second, thinking what I could do to them and what they would do to me afterwards. But I realized one thing. They’ve done so much worse to me, why would I care if I got cuts and bruises and pushed into the lake? I’ve suffered more. It would happen anyways at some point within the next 10 minutes. So I went for it. When they turned to each other, I swung my fist at one of their jaws, feeling the jolt of adrenaline pumping through me. His head swung back at an awkward angle, and blood fell from his mouth. Before the other guy could process what was going on, I jabbed him in the gut, then hammered him in the back as he leaned over in pain. I kicked him once more in the stomach, and he fell to the ground. The guy I punched before was bleeding slightly, and I elbowed him in the eye. I felt the bone, I heard the smack, and I thought of nothing except making them suffer what I did.  
The problem was. The problem was that there must have been 12 of them, and one of me. I couldn’t keep it up for long, and within these past 15 seconds, I’d got 2 guys down. Suddenly, the rest of the guys realized what was going on. One of the biggest guys with black hair shoved me into the water, the splash surrounding me. I gasped for air, then came out seconds later with water dripping from my hair and clothes. I ran for my backpack a few feet away, and remembered that I had a metal water bottle. I figured it was better than nothing. So I swung.  
I hit someone right in the face, and another in the chest, knocking him down. I swung down on Vince’s head, and he tumbled to the grass. Seconds later the other guys had taken my bag and thrown it in the lake, then started hitting me. This was bound to come, anyways, so I got some anger out at least. Suddenly, Vince stood up, and right as they started kicking me helplessly on the ground, Vince pushed all the other guys out of the way. “Let me take care of him” he said with a horrible look in his eye.  
He hit me, hard. Square in the jaw. I felt warm blood fill my mouth. The other guys circled around, watching and helping the guys I knocked down. They hooted and laughed, as I lay defenseless on the ground. He kicked me in the stomach four times. Five in the chest. Just as he was about to do it again, just as he was about to swing his foot at my face – a car stopped a few hundred feet away.  
A large, burly man stepped out of the car and jogged towards the scene. The guys mumbled cries of alarm, and ran off. The man didn’t bother going after them. He crouched over me, checking if I was alright. I curled up, trying to stop the bleeding. He helped me stand up, and walked me to his car hurriedly. I was losing blood. Fast, too fast. He helped me into the passenger’s seat, and suddenly he was driving away quickly. I closed my eyes and let myself drift into some sort of sleep.  
I opened my eyes when the car stopped. I heard yelling for help, and worried people. The man carried me out of the car, into a building. It automatically got warmer as he stepped in the doors. I heard people speaking to each other quickly, and then I felt myself fall onto a moving bed. Was I in a hospital?  
“I’m fine, really” I told the nurse. “I’m sure you are, but we need to check, it’s nothing too serious, but it never hurts to be safe” she says reassuringly. She exits the room and I fall back onto the bed, feeling the ivy tug in my arm. I sighed. I was fine, really. But who was the man who brought me here? I was desperate to find out. About 20 minutes later my nurse came back in, and I asked her who brought me in. “  
“It seems a man by the name of Troy, do you know him?” she asks, checking her clipboard over again.  
“The name is familiar, but no” I say, scratching my head. “Listen, that was nice of him and all, but how’d he find me, we were hundreds of feet away from the road”  
“I’m not sure, but I believe he’s still here, I’ll ask” she leaves the room swiftly and I see her talk to a man outside the window, with a young boy sitting next to him, looking concerned. She enters the room, the young man following her. The boy is none other than Louis Tomlinson.


	4. Chapter 4

Louis’s POV

“Why are you here?” He hissed at me. I sunk a little at that. I didn’t know him, and this didn’t mean we were automatic buddies or anything, but I knew something was wrong. So I told him the story

“I followed you out the door when you left, and when I saw you were heading towards that lake, I started heading off. Then I ran into the football team and that one guy who beat you up in the hall…”

“You mean Vince?” He asked with a spark of hate in his voice.

“Yeah, him. Anyways, I noticed that they were heading around your area, so I called my dad and asked him to come there, because I knew they’d hurt you. I knew they would.”

“But you don’t know me, why’d you do that?” He yelled “You could’ve gotten yourself hurt!” He said

“But you could’ve gotten yourself more hurt! Or maybe even killed!” I stated back to him, hoping he’d realize the point. 

“Why did you do this, anyways? It’s not like we’re gonna be friends, or you’d want to be my friend.” He hissed at me. I was shocked. I didn’t think we would be friends, but that just didn’t seem like something a guy like him would say.

“I was worried after seeing you in the bathroom” I said quietly, bringing the conversation down to a whisper, staring at my feet, sitting at the end of the bed. “I don’t want to get you hurt. And I risked a lot for you, my dad grounded me for a month for skipping class, and he’d never let me hang out with you if he knew you had all those bruises. My parents are… strict. They only expect me to focus on finding a girl so I can have a housewife, I don’t even think I want that, though… They’re even homophobic, I’m not gay so it doesn’t affect me really…” I trailed off.

“Louis, I’m gay. Homosexual. As in, I like boys; it sounds like your parents wouldn’t approve of me anyways.” He said, crossing his arms like he wanted me to leave. 

“Well, I had no idea. Sorry about touching you earlier, then…” I said awkwardly

“Why do you think that was so weird for me? Maybe because I liked it?” He said, indicating that he must not have thought I was so bad. 

“Well, I’m not gay, but I kind of liked it, too. I know it sounds gay, but just…”

“You could always be bi” Harry stated. 

“My parents would disown me!” I chuckled at the non hilarity of it “They would send me to a camp or something to fix me.” I said, realizing I could have offended him. “I’m sorry… I don’t think it’s wrong, just… not for me. And besides, I’m straight. I like girls. But thanks for the offer” I patted his leg, and got up to leave. Right when my feet met the ground he tugged at my hand. “What now?” I said playfully. He hesitated a moment to find the right words. Finally he spoke them “thanks”

I nodded and walked away, leaving my heart racing.

“Honey, I have a surprise for you” my mom bleated at my shut door. 

“Go away, not interested” I said with a monotone voice as I struggled to figure out my math homework. 

“But you’ll like it!” She entered my room, holding a small object behind her back. I sighed and put aside my homework. I sat cross legged, gesturing to here to continue. “This better be good” I say. She pulls from her back a notebook, looking like nothing special. “Um, mom? I have about thirty notebooks already” I say, confused at the specialty of it. 

“But this is so you can keep track of your senior year.” She sat down on the bed with me, making it rock slightly. “You’ll want to remember it when you’re at college in Oxford” she chuckles. She slides my hair out of my face “I’m so proud of you.” She pauses for a moment, then continues. “Anyway, I read it’s good to capture your high school year, so every week you can write a few pages about stuff. Like friends, classes, girls.” She bumps my shoulder at the last word. “Yeah, like I have time for girls” I scoff. She frowns, and stands up. She leaves the room, giving me an awkward smile before shutting the door. Maybe I didn’t have time to figure out girls, but I might have a little time to figure out that boy Harry.

Four days later. Monday. Sitting in class, bored out of my mind. I’d finished the essay, and I sat tapping my pencil, leaning on my desk. The teacher walks over and recommends that I do some free writing. So I look around the room, for any inspiration. I stare at the walls, the inspiring posters, the cracked ceilings, the gray carpeted floor, the desks clanging together. After minutes of hopelessness, I see the guy sitting across the room, his hands clenched through his hair, struggling to write the essay. I don’t know anything about him, but I know that he’s bullied, and I know that he was beaten up by those guys. I had nothing else to write about, so I started writing about the one interesting thing that’s happened so far in my senior year – him. 

When the bell rings, I scribble in the last of the sentence and head out to my next class. Science. I only wrote a few paragraphs, but so far they summed it up pretty well. It’s not like a diary entry, though. More like a story, just… real. I run into one of the football guys, and he butts me in the shoulder. I turn around, watching him chuckle to himself. “Watch where you’re going!” I yell to him over all the bustling noise. He stops and turns around to face me. I grip my stuff, hoping for the best. The teachers at this school seemed pretty ignorant. “Wait… Are you that kid that we saw in that field?” He asks. I’m hoping to god that he doesn’t know I’m the one who ratted them out. “Why do you care?” I spit at him. “Because – nothing. Never mind. Just next time, you might not want to get in my face.” He comes inches from me, his hot breath slurring around me. I stand still, and he walks away angrily. I sigh. I told you I was right, mom. Reason one I’m not joining the football team.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry’s POV

Today, I had a good day. Not a great day, no, I haven’t had one of those in years, and I don’t think I ever will again. But I didn’t get beat up. I’m not sure why, but it made me feel… different. Like I was my old, old self, the one far away that would never return. But I knew it would happen again. Maybe in a month, maybe tomorrow. But I didn’t expect it to stop. The word spread about the hospital, so I guess that means to stop tormenting the guy for one day, give him a break. How lucky I am. I didn’t think about school, though, I thought of him. Why did he do that, and why couldn’t I get him out of my mind? I didn’t even know him, but it feels like I did. I thought about him, touching my cut, feeling the soft sensation of his fingers grazing on my warm skin. I stopped myself from pushing farther into the thought. Did I like him? I’d only ever had one boyfriend, but he was a liar. I’d never had a crush on a guy, nobody really. But is this what it was like? To feel tingly and want to look at their eyes, even if you didn’t know what color they were? To want to hold their hand, even if they weren’t yours to hold? To want to talk to them for hours on end, even if they had nothing to say? I had no idea, no idea at all.

I entered the house. The door creaked, and I slung my bag on the couch. I started cleaning the kitchen, it was just something I naturally did. My father was usually too drunk to do anything about it. I passed his room while drying a plate, but he was gone. I figured he just went to gamble or to a bar, but I remembered this morning he had said he’d be home all day. But again, I couldn’t trust him to keep promises. Minutes ticked by slowly, and after the last dishes had been dried, I headed over to my room. I closed the door, shut my blinds, and turned on my creaky old light. I sat on my bed – not technically a bed, more a crappy mattress, but I’ve never slept in a real bed, had a real home, so it’s fine by me. I start my homework, watching the time tick slowly, hoping for things to get better, but they didn’t.

I woke up from a nap, my math homework finished, but still splattered all over my small room. I shuffled the papers and stacked them in my backpack, then went to the kitchen. It was 5:45, and my father was still nowhere to be found. I called one of his mates, Ron, but he told me he hadn’t seen him either. I tried his cell, which he never picked up. It rung. One, two, six times until an answer. “Dad?” I said upset. I heard a mumble at the end of the phone that I wasn’t able to interpret. “Dad are you alright?” I asked with a hint of worry “where are you?” He spoke into the phone, drunk, of course. “I’ll, be… back… soo-soon.” He slurred his words, but I didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t dead, I’d be fine. I hung up the phone. But would I really care if he was dead?

He came home, about an hour later. Barging through the door loudly, stumbling through the hallway. I stood from the couch where the TV quietly blared. “Why’d you call me?” he asked angrily. “I-I just wanted to make sure you were alrig…” He cut me off, and mumbled something, leaning against the chair. “You… it’s none of your business if I was ok or what I was doing or…!” He continued to speak, but in small, unreadable phrases. He smashed his fist in the chair, toppling it over loudly as it clanged on the floor. He headed towards me, stomping hard on the hard floor. “Dad, dad you’re drunk, please stop” I murmured, worried I wasn’t going to be okay after he came to me. “Dad, stop!” I yelled. “Don’t tell me what to do!” He yelled in anger, smashing a blue vase, shattering into thousands of pieces. I felt a small pain, and saw shards of tiny glass poking all over my arm. I scraped them away and watched the blood drizzle out of my arm. I held it tight, not wanting to lose too much blood, but I couldn’t defend myself at the same time. In that moment, he hit me again. He’d done it so many times before, but this time felt… different. I felt like it was real anger, and he really meant it, sober or not. I felt my cheek warm up, and before I could do anything to process it, he hit me again. This time straight in the nose. I held up my arms, feeling my nose pour blood. He kicked me in the shin, then repeatedly again in the stomach. I heard him screaming nonsense at me, the loud blaring noise of him screaming filling my ears. I begged him to stop so many times, feeling pain surge through my body, but it was useless. He couldn’t hear me. He kicked me so many more times, then bent down and punched me in the face. I couldn’t count how many, I just knew it all went by so slowly, so quickly, so numbly, but still with so much pain. He rose to his feet, kicking me a final time, then losing his balance. He regained it, but I saw his eyes go blank, his legs wobble, and he toppled to the ground – unconscious.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry’s POV

He wasn’t dead. That was a good start. I don’t know what happened to him, the nurses tried again and again to explain it to me, but all I could make out of the words is that he had over drank, and from all the sudden physical activity, his brain malfunctioned. I heard them say something about a concussion. I was hoping that wasn’t it. If he was unable to care for me, who knows where I’d go live. The biggest possibility would be at my uncle’s house five zillion miles from here. I didn’t want to move, my life here sucked, but it would be worse at another school, so why should I have to go through all of that ‘hi I’m the new kid Harry’ crap, when I could stay low here?

A few hours later, one of the nurses asked me a bunch of questions about his medical health, and even some questions about me. She asked how old I was, and how my home life was. I told her most of the truth, covering up some things like how I got the bruises, and how he screams at me, but it still didn’t make what I told her sound pleasant. She tapped her pen on her clipboard, said thanks, and left. 

I was sitting by my dad, reading a magazine, when two nurses came in. One of them was the one asking me questions earlier. They didn’t seem interested in my dad.

“Hi Harry” the girl who asked me all the questions said. “Hi” I said quietly. “So we understand that you get bullied a lot, is that correct?” one with blonde hair said. I just shrugged and nodded. They asked again. “A little” I lied. Why’d they care? “Well, is your life at home ok?” They asked with concerning voices. “It’s fine” I mumbled. “What do you get bullied about?” I didn’t answer, and they asked me a few more questions, without answers. They went back to the question about my bullying. “Why do you care? It’s not your business to know!” I grabbed my backpack and stormed out of the room into the echoing corridor. The nurses ran after me, and they grabbed my arms. “Harry, we need you to talk to us” they said, tugging on my arms, trying to get me to stop. “I don’t want to fucking talk!” I snapped. I couldn’t believe I’d said it, but I didn’t really care. I ran down the stairs, and out the hospital without any more trouble, but I could’ve sworn I heard them yelling something. 

Where was I gonna stay? Well, not at my house, that’s for sure. There might be cops there investigating, and I don’t want to be interrogated again. I figured I’d just sleep at the park. I headed to town and found that the park was closed off. By this time, I didn’t care. It was probably two in the morning, and I was cold and tired. I put on my sweater, found an alleyway, and fell fast asleep. 

When I woke up, the sun wasn’t shining, the birds weren’t singing, and I wasn’t happy. The sun barely peeked through the clouds, and it just looked like a busy Monday morning. I couldn’t skip school, or they’d know something was up. I jogged most of the way to the school, which was only a mile and a half. I slowed down when I got into the school zone, and saw the new boy, Louis. I heard the bell ring, and realized that I was still a good quarter mile away. I started running, hoping I could get to art class on time, the one class I enjoyed. I ran into him, and continued running, mumbling a quick apology until I heard the sound of papers flying everywhere. I wasn’t in the mood to play I’m not gay but I liked it when you touched me like we did the other week in the hospital. I turned around, and found that he wasn’t even attempting to pick them up. He put his head down, dropped his backpack, and fell onto the concrete, curling up into a ball, tears starting to run down his face. I went back to him and moved his knees and arms away from his face. “Why are you crying? I’m really sorry, I’ll help pick it up” I began picking up papers, hoping he’d stop crying. But he didn’t. I moved his hair from his forehead and smiled at him. I reached out my hand towards him to help him up. He took it and sat up, still not getting up from the ground completely. “You’re Louis, right?” I asked him sarcastically. How could I forget his name. He nodded and gave me a small smile, looking up from his hair concealing his eye, to meet mine. His eyes were beautiful. I snapped out of it and smiled back, “here, let me help.”


	7. Chapter 7

Louis’s POV  
            “Thanks” I stammer to Harry.  He helps me retrieve the last few pieces of paper scattered on the concrete.  “It was my fault anyways.” He said with a bit of humor in his voice.  “You don’t have to be late because of me, you can go” I whisper to him, with my head down.  “I can be late for good reasons, and you’re one of them” I felt my heart skip a beat.  I grabbed my backpack, zipped it up and walked over to this fountain next to the park.  I sat on the edge, slumping down.  Harry comes and joins me.  A few awkward seconds pass without words, and then he speaks.   
“Why were you crying?” He said.  “It’s… nothing” I shrug it off, hoping I don’t have to talk about it.  But I can’t talk to anyone about it, and he seems to be the best candidate.  I don’t even know him, yet I feel safe with him… like I’m protected.  It’s a weird feeling, but it gives me butterflies and goose bumps and I feel myself staring when I see him in the halls.  “It’s not nothing.  I saw it in your eyes.  That’s not the kind of crying that’s nothing….” He trails off, pain in his voice.  Then he clears his throat and speaks again, like he understands “that’s the kind of crying that you have when you want to give up on everything and you feel like you could shoot yourself in the head and it wouldn’t make any difference” the way he said it made it feel like there was so much pain in his voice, like he knows what it’s like, and he’s felt it all too often.  He understood my pain more than I did.  “I didn’t get accepted into Oxford.” I trailed off, and looked straight ahead into the patterns of the concrete.  He looked at me; I could feel his eyes on me.  A warm expression that seemed to show he cared.  “They said someone called as me and they deleted my application” his eyes looked shocked, but the same expression covered his face.  “Life is unfair” he said to me, so silently I nearly couldn’t hear him. I looked up at him and he gave me a small smile. I looked down again, but felt something on my leg. I looked up and his hand was resting on my lap. I felt awkward at first and smiled, but he pulled away shortly after. “Look, I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, this shit is just getting to my head I guess” Harry stated. He looked down at the ground and chuckled “life is a funny thing, Louis Tomlinson.” he spoke it like he was reading it off of a script he had written himself. “You do good, you get beat up. You be honest with everyone, they shame you for it. You do things to make your father proud, he beats you” he suddenly shot his head up, looking down the road. Tears welled in his puffy, red eyes. He looked over at me and whispered “I didn’t mean to say that. I-I’m sorry.” he sniffed and wiped away his tears before any more fell. I edged closer to him, resting my hand on his shoulder. “It’s ok, it is” I tell him. I wanted him to trust me because he obviously couldn’t trust anybody else. I was trying to stay calm, but my mind was racing. What was I supposed to do? Was it my responsibility to tell someone? I already had assumed his family may have been slightly abusive to him, but the way he said it was just horrible. Like he had thousands of pounds on his chest but all the sudden he tried to rip them off, but they came crashing back down on him. He didn’t want to tell me. He didn’t mean to tell me, that I know. But I was glad he had said it, because I wanted to help. I wasn’t sure how, but I knew that I was going to. “Harry, it’ll be alright, I promise” I spoke softly. He sniffed and his face seemed to turn to stone. He looked me in the eyes and spoke words that chilled my bones. “No, it really won’t. People say that and they try to make things better, but it never fucking works. Things never get better. Things only get worse” and he got up, grabbed his backpack, and headed towards the school, leaving only me and my racing heart and stiff bones.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 Harry’s POV “I’m so stupid I’m so stupid I’m so stupid why am I so stupid?” were the only words I could repeat to myself, over and over and over again. ‘Great job, Harry’ I thought to myself. ‘Way to tell a stranger about your goddamn dad!’ I was so infuriated with myself, how could I be so dumb? What if he tells someone, and the cops get involved or everyone at school finds out? I’ll be screwed if he does. I’m praying to god he can keep his mouth shut. I don’t even know the guy, and I blurted out to him my biggest secret? That my dad abuses me? Tears began to well up in my eyes, I quickly fought them off.

I come in front of the classroom door, expectant of the awkward stares I’ll receive for being late, and for Mr. Acanello to scold me. I looked at my watch, it read 7:18. Three minutes late, not too bad. But Mr. Acanello wasn’t the forgiving type. I creak open the classroom door to see everyone with a pencil in their hands and a test sheet in front of them. I look to find Mr. Acanello at his desk, his head raising to meet my eyes just as I find him. I quietly walk over to his desk and ask him for a test sheet in a whisper, careful not to disrupt anybody.

“Mr. Styles, do you understand that you are 3 minutes late and we’ve already begun the test?” he says in such a quiet whisper it sends shivers up my spine.

“Yeah, I didn’t know we had a test today-“ he cut me off.

“Styles, this is a pop quiz. Or, pop test. You should’ve been here when the bell rang. This test is the last before the midterm, and counts, respectively, for 12% of your grade.” he glances at me with a look of anger in his eyes. I whisper back to him

“I was helping a student, I’m sorry I’m late, I won’t be again. If I can’t take it today then when can I take it? Lunch, after school?” I was nervous now. This was a big test, and I had no idea what it was on, so there’s no way I could study.

“Styles, do you understand that I do not care if you were helping someone, you need to be here at 7:15, as that is when my ownership of your time, begins.” he takes a deep breath, remembering to keep his voice quiet. People were beginning to look.

“Mr. Acanello, I understand I can’t take it now, but please just maybe after school or duri-“

“Styles! Jesus Christ get out of my classroom!” His anger boiled over and he was shouting now. “You are not taking this test and that is final!” he stood up out of his chair and was standing inches from my face, pointing towards the door. Everyone had dropped their pencils and were staring dumbfounded at both me and Mr. Acanello. I backed slowly away from him, and turned around and rammed the door open, getting out of their as fast as possible.

I heard silence in the classroom, except a few giggles from the front row, laughing at me, mocking me and the fact that Mr. Acanello had a bite equal to his bark. He had the authority to fail me and it seems he did just that, but not without embarrassing me in front of the whole class. I walked towards the nearest exit, the halls vacant. I stormed out of the school and guided my way home, trying not to think and not overthink and not cry because who the fuck cries when their teacher yells at them and god damn it I’m crying. I wipe the tears away from my face and relive the moment constantly in my head, the stares of the class, but worst of all, the giggles of the small group of people in front of the class were etched into my brain. Popular girls, who probably got extra credit for taking Mr. Acanello’s side, as did everyone surely.

I arrived home and got inside the empty shit show of a house and slammed the door shut. I threw my backpack down on the ground and slumped against the front door. I was furious. Anger welled inside of me. Why the fuck did he yell at me? I didn’t do anything wrong - did I? Or is being Harry enough reason for people to put me down? I’m deserving of it, I suppose. Self hatred always ran through my veins but never this strong. Never have I despised myself this much. I grabbed my backpack and hurled it at the wall, screaming.

“Why, why, why!” I kicked the wall repeatedly until my foot felt numb inside my shoe.

“I hate myself I hate my life I hate everything!” I screamed, tugging at my hair, kicking and screaming and losing control. I walked through the house grunting and screaming and crying all at once. I took my fist out of my mess of hair and put it through the wall. My fist burned and turned red, but it wasn’t enough. I picked up the dirty glass cup on the counter and shattered it on the table’s surface, glass fragments flying everywhere and some piercing through my skin.

I was mad and upset and I suddenly just fell out of energy. I went limp and sank to the floor, sadness overtaking the anger slowly and slower and now I’m not angry I guess I’m just sad I guess I deserve this all don’t I. I sat there for what seemed like hours until my breathing slowed down a bit. I felt a sharp stinging pain and looked down at my hand that I had shattered the glass with. Glass protruded from my hand and blood was dripping lightly on the floor and my hand was pink with blood. I yanked out the glass shards one by one until they were all gone.

I got a towel and wrapped it around my hand, cleaning up the small mess of blood on the floor afterwards. My hand stung and burned, I could feel the blood well up in the small cuts and then slowly trickle down my hand where the towel would soak up the blood. My hand hurt, and in curiosity I took off the towel to reveal the skin that was puffing up in a few different spots. I lightly touched the cuts, blood coming off on my finger. I put pressure on them and the cuts burned. It smiled a bit. It hurt, but I kind of enjoyed it. I was glad I felt something other then anger for the first time in a while.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis share an intense conversation... and something more.

LOUIS POV

I walked into science class just as the bell rang. I sat down in my usual seat in the back. As the bell chimed one last time, Harry burst in, looking frantic and nervous. The teacher just sighed as he took a seat - the last empty one, right next to me. He slowly walked to the seat and sat down, looking uncomfortable and obviously avoiding me. I glanced over at him as he began to work on the question on the board. He put his head close to his paper to avoid seeing me, but that didn’t keep me from seeing the bandage on his arm. His wrist was wrapped thickly, like something happened to it. I knew he was avoiding me because he accidentally let it slip that his dad abused him. I wasn’t going to judge him, but maybe he was worried I’d tell someone. The class went by painfully slow.

Midway through the lecture, I saw Harry bend his wrist to pick up his pencil, and I heard him take in a small, sharp breath, his other hand reaching for his wrist. A few people glanced at him, but I pretended not to be watching him. He took a breath and continued to write. A minute later, I began to see a small dot of red form underneath the gauze, realizing he must’ve opened up a cut again. Did his dad do that to him? Maybe he just fell and I’m reading too much into it. The bell rang and everyone jumped out of their seats and rushed out the door. Except Harry.

He just slowly packed his bag and squeezed his bad wrist as tight as he could, maybe to stop the bleeding. He picked up his backpack and winced when he used his bad hand. He kept walking and walked into the bathroom. I glance around and follow him inside. “need help with that?” I asked. “I’m fine, thanks” he says spitefully.

“I’m sorry for whatever I’ve done, Harry”

“You didn’t do anything. It’s my fault, but please, just keep your mouth shut, ok?” He stammered, his voice going to a whisper

“Harry, I will not say anything, I promise. I just worry about you - you always seem so nervous and tense…”

“Yeah, but why do you care? You just moved to a new town and you’re smart and you have such a bright future ahead of you - yet you keep coming back to me like I’m your lost puppy!”

“I never meant to treat you like that-do you understand that maybe I need some friends here, and I would’ve liked to talk to you? Why do you assume I have some ulterior motive to hurt you or something?"

I got defensive Harry quieted down and sunk to the floor. “It’s hard for me to see the good in people… I’m so used to getting hurt by everybody and I’m not really willing to let people in.” I sat down next to him and scooted close, but he just scooted further.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you… Or not help you and just talk to you.” Harry began sobbing, angry one second and crying the next. He put his head in his hands and let out a loud sob, his body shaking with tears. I didn’t say anything, and just put my arm around his back. He shrugged my arm off, but I wasn’t going to let him push me away so easily. I knew what it was like when you needed someone but you didn’t want to admit it, so I wrapped my arms around Harry and brought him into my chest, and he didn’t fight me this time. It was odd at first, hugging a boy that felt so much like a stranger. But when he took a sharp breathe and began crying again, I pulled him in closer, shutting out the awkward space between us and leaving just us and Harry’s tears echoing around the bathroom. “Shhh,” I whispered, stroking his shoulder. It felt like we were sitting there for hours, Harry’s crying very eventually becoming silent shivers, his body occasionally shaking. I thought he’d fallen asleep he’d been so quiet, until he sat up, leaning against the wall again, rubbing his puffy eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry” he whispered.

“Why are you saying sorry?” I said, leaning closer to him, lifting his head to look at me. “For everything” he mumbled, putting his head back down again.

“Don’t be” I smiled, and he glanced up at me. His face looked so sad, his expression hurt, but his eyes seemed to be saying something, like happiness. His lips, his lips were pink and they looked so soft and he looked so soft and irresistible. He glanced up at me again, feeling my eyes on him. He sat up, and before I could think, I took a breath and kissed him.

I crashed my lips against his soft face, and felt his face heat up and him tugging back, but my lips locking to him, refusing to let him go. I changed sitting positions and grabbed his face in my hands, and felt him kiss back. His soft lips rough against mine, his fingers tugging ever so slightly on my shirt collar, feeling his breath rush into my mouth, my lips working their way around his, like a dance. He worked his tongue into my mouth, his skin flushing and his mouth making sloppy movements. I moved my hands onto his waist, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping the moment would never end. I spread his legs apart with my knees and leaned slightly over him, and felt his hands tug harder on my shirt and shoulders, using me as his support, our bodies working around each other and our mouths intertwining so deeply it felt like our mouths were one, not two.

I leaned him down on the floor, straddling him and tugging his shirt collar, my lips pounding against his, our tongues tracing each other like maps. He pulled me onto him, my body collapsing on top of him, feeling his heat radiating. I felt like fireworks were set off in my stomach, my heart racing, feeling Harry’s heart race against my chest. A near perfect moment. Until reality came crashing onto me, and I realized that I was kissing a boy. I pulled myself off of Harry and resisted going back to him, leaning my back against the wall, breathing hard. Harry pulled himself up and stared at me, dumbfounded. I stared at him, and smiled. I didn’t care. My father would never know, he wouldn’t need to. I felt a sense of comfort knowing that only Harry and I would know, and nobody else. Harry adjusted his pants, and that was when I realized I had an erection, but I just ignored my body and stared at Harry while we caught our breathe. I knew we needed to get back to class, but I didn’t want to move away from him. He suddenly stood up, grabbed his bag, and leaned down and whispered in my ear before he quickly went to class, all he said was “please stay.”


End file.
